


Exit Music

by writingtoreachyou



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Depression, Early Days, Friendship, M/M, TT I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6445768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingtoreachyou/pseuds/writingtoreachyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the year 1994. Kurt Cobain is dead and nothing will ever be the same again. </p><p>This is a one-shot of the night that Cobain died, inspired by an interview in which the guys talk about where they were that night, it could ALMOST be canon ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit Music

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic inspired by Radiohead’s “Exit Music (For A Film)”, a track that I had completely forgotten about the time I wrote that story (2011, I think) until Mark mentioned it in Part 2 of [this](http://youtu.be/MNktjef6xic) particular interview (so many great songs are being mentioned there). Gave it another shot and totally fell in love with it. Thank you, Markie!!! :D Great taste in music, that man! (And I don’t say that because I own most of the albums he mentions here - or maybe that’s exactly why I say it, hahaha :P) 
> 
> You can listen to the entire song right [here](http://youtu.be/iMqXj-eVCjI).

Mark was lying on his bed, zapping his way through the Danish channels to keep his mind occupied. Because something about the man lying right next to him felt very off but as long as he wasn’t willing to talk about it, he’d not press things more than absolutely necessary. He radiated some kind of sadness that Mark hadn’t perceived before and he wondered if it had actually been there for a while. Maybe he had been too caught up in himself to notice? Maybe it had started when they’d stopped sharing rooms? Because quite frankly, he missed their nights. Of course it could be a bit too much when you desperately wanted to take a girl upstairs and the room was a Rob-like mess. Or the girl was too shy to sleep with him while Rob was lying on the other side of the room, possibly even watching. Hell, he didn’t know what it was but sometimes NOT having the girl was a price he was willing to pay in order to have his band mate around. Those long nights of chatting and talking nonsense, the silly play fights, the two of them sneaking around hotels to find the source of odd noises, convincing everybody who was willing to listen that their hotel was haunted. Sharing stories about aliens and abductions until they were too unsettled to sleep - but never admitting to it.  
All that ended when Nigel broke the news that they no longer needed to share rooms because they could afford better.

Until recently.  
For some reason, Rob had started finding excuses to stay over again. A messy room. The true belief that his room was haunted - "for real!". Or they’d start watching movies together until Rob fell asleep right next to him. And Mark wondered why the other boy always needed those excuses because he loved his company and he tried to let Rob know as much as possible. Because despite all those faces and masks, Mark was not stupid. He knew how fragile Rob was. He knew that his funny front was a way of screaming for attention so they would see him. Because it was only then that he felt worthy. He was the most insecure person he’d ever met. At the same time he’d never met anybody he had connected with that well. Sometimes they were like yin and yang, other times they were basically the same person. Mark believed in the concept of soulmates, was absolutely certain that his life had been written out for him before his birth and he was very thankful that some higher force had written Rob into it.

Mark ran his hand through his hair and looked at Rob from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but something was definitely not okay. He turned his head and looked at him openly now, smiling carefully.  
“What,” Rob frowned at him.  
“Nothing. Just smiling at you,” Mark replied and rubbed the back of his neck.  
Rob sighed softly “I’m alright, Markie, no need to worry.” He shifted down a bit and looked back at the TV.  
Mark didn’t believe him but just nodded. He would talk eventually. And Mark would be there. That’s all he could offer. He muttered “Alright. Just...”.  
“Yeah,” Rob nodded before he could finish the sentence.  
A wall. Okay. Mark nodded once more and continued zapping through the channels.

 _”The singer of the Seattle rock band Nirvana was found dead in his Seattle Washington home today. Police said Kurt Cobain apparently shot himself, leaving a suicide note behind. Cobain’s mother said...”_  
What she had said they wouldn’t know because Rob snatched the remote control and switched off the TV faster than Mark could grasp.  
“FUCK,” Rob shouted, staring at the now black screen.  
“FUCK!” he repeated while Mark still hadn’t registered properly what was going on.  
Kurt Cobain was dead. The man whose music had touched their hearts. Who had written some incredible songs that expressed everything he stood for. Now he could actually sing eternally, the way he had always wanted. And run away from fame, something he had never wanted to achieve with his music.  
He had been a musician.  
Had been pretty much openly depressed.  
Had openly taken drugs.  
Had openly claimed how much he hated life.  
And now he had succeeded.  
“That fucking, fucking depression! SHIT,” Rob started tossing the blankets off the bed and jumped up and it was only now that Mark snapped out of this overwhelming sadness that had crept up inside even though he had never met that man. He crawled out of bed as well, feeling numb and sad and confused by Rob’s anger.  
“That fucking asshole! _I don’t have a gun_??? I SWEAR that I don’t have a gun?” Rob rubbed his face.  
What was happening here? This was not about Kurt Cobain, was it?  
Mark tried to reach for Rob’s arm but he turned away, shaking softly.  
“Rob, what’s wrong?” Mark asked softly, he was starting to feel scared.  
“What’s wrong? Kurt Cobain is dead. That’s wrong!” Rob replied with unsteady voice before turning around and passing Mark, leaving his hotel room.  
“Rob, where are you going???” Mark almost shrieked now. He had no idea what was going on but he was shit scared of the state his bandmate was in and followed him immediately. He briefly saw him heading into his own room before making his way to the emergency exit that led straight to the roof.  
“ROB!!! Come on, don’t be silly!!!”  
Mark panicked. He had never seen him this upset and he didn’t know what to do.

When he carefully climbed up the stairs to the roof, he was terrified of what he would find.  
To his relief, Rob was sitting there, shivering, a joint in his hand. He pulled a drag and let his arm fall as if he had no control over it.  
Mark shuffled closer. He didn’t dare to make much of a sound.  
Then Rob turned to look at him, tears were streaming down his face.  
Mark wrapped his cardigan tighter around his body against the early April wind and slowly sat down on a free spot next to his best friend.  
When Rob offered him the joint, he took it and let the weed calm down his own nerves.  
He briefly rested his head against Rob’s shoulder to indicate that he was there and both boys were staring into the distance.  
Day turned to night.  
Light turned to darkness.  
Both didn’t say a word.

_Silence_  
_Here I am_  
_Here I am_  
_Silent_

The joint was long finished and Rob and Mark were chilled to the bone when Rob wrapped his arm around his friend and whispered “Thank you.”.  
Mark nodded and followed Rob’s example, leaned against him and mumbled “You scared the fucking shit out of me, mate.”  
“I know,” Rob sighed and added softly “I scare the fucking shit out of myself, too”.  
Mark bit his lip and turned to look at him in the darkness.  
“You know, I thought he could do it. And... his fight against it made me believe that I could do it, too,” the younger boy whispered, he didn’t dare to speak up, it was obvious that he was fighting against something inside him.  
“What do you mean,” Mark asked even though realisation slowly kicked in.  
“Markie, I’m fucking depressed sometimes. It’s scaring me, I don’t know what it is, I just know that it’s this darkness inside of my system and it has no reason or no cure, it’s just there. And...”  
“...you don’t know what to do...” Mark finished his sentence when he realised that Rob was struggling too much.  
Rob closed his eyes and new tears were streaming down his face.  
Mark pulled him close and held him, letting him cry because words would never be strong enough. He didn’t want to pressure him by saying how much he needed him in his life.  
But the wall was down.  
The night that Kurt Cobain died was the first time Rob told anybody about his fear of himself.  
It would be a long fight. A tiring fight. One he might never actually win. But Mark would not simply watch, he’d do anything he could to stand by his side.

_Breathe, keep breathing_  
_Don't lose your nerve_  
_Breathe, keep breathing_  
_I can't do this alone_

_Sing.. us a song_  
_A song to keep us warm_  
_There's such a chill, such a chill_

**Author's Note:**

> The "Just smiling at you" was something I just HAD to put in ever since I saw that scene of Mark and Les in the Big Brother kitchen saying exactly that after sensing how down Les feels and the other man is completely thrown by his gentle kindness. It makes my heart beat faster - couldn't find the video anymore, otherwise I'd have posted the link here...


End file.
